


Fortress

by MisplacedLonelyHeartsAd



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drunk Sam, Episode Tag, Episode: s10e03 Soul Survivor, Gen, POV Dean Winchester, Pie, episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2507387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisplacedLonelyHeartsAd/pseuds/MisplacedLonelyHeartsAd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Have some more pie," Sam insisted.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortress

 

“Have some more pie,” Sam insisted.

Dean sighed as Sam poked the aluminum pie tin a further two inches closer to him, as though proximity would increase the appeal of the pallid pumpkin pie it contained. “Thanks, Sam, one piece was enough, okay?” he demurred, frowning as Sam knocked back another slug of whiskey. He eyed the level of Jack Daniel's left in the bottle and calculated that his brother would soon pass from the vaguely belligerent stage of his drunken procession into the weepy phase which, he had to admit, was more endearing than annoying.

“What’s wrong with it?” Sam demanded, picking up the offending pie and squinting at it.

“Nothing. It’s fine,” Dean lied, smothering his first genuine laugh in months.

“You don’t like it,” Sam declared, suddenly ridiculously tragic. “I know it’s not your favorite, but it was all they had.”

“Yeah, Sam, look, I’m stuffed, all right? And frankly I think chili cheese fries _and_ onion rings may not have been a good idea.” In fact, Dean was sure of it. He watched the beginnings of a trembling pout form on his brother’s mouth and hastened to add, “But the bacon double cheeseburger, that was perfect.”

Sam sniffled a little, and while he was rubbing his nose, Dean took the opportunity to deftly lift the whiskey bottle off the table and set it on a chair out of his line of sight.

“Really?” Sam asked. His face was now aglow with childlike pleasure, and in it Dean could clearly see the five-year-old boy who used to look at him with the same expression so often.

“Yeah, you did good, Sam,” Dean said, rising as his brother began to look for the bottle. “And now it’s time for bed, slugger.”

“No—I want another drink,” Sam began to protest, but Dean caught his arm and hauled him out of his chair.

“Nope.” Dean managed to steer Sam out of the library, down the hall, and into his room without tangling their legs together. Sam put up surprisingly little resistance to being maneuvered onto his bed, and once there sat docilely attempting to get his boots off, with little success.

Dean sighed and knelt to assist him. Sam pushed at his shoulder. “I’m s’posed to be taking care of you,” he said peevishly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean murmured. “Go to sleep, Sam. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Sam swung his legs onto the bed. “You know what, Dean? It was scary here without you,” he muttered in the five-year-old’s voice, and Dean’s heart leapt into his throat.

He cleared his throat and closed his eyes briefly before replying, “Well, it’s okay, I’m here now.”

Sam did not answer immediately, and Dean said, more sharply than he intended to, “Don’t be scared.”

“I’m not,” said Sam indignantly. He flopped back onto the mattress, heedless of his injured arm.

Dean planted a hand on the bed to lever himself upright, and Sam grabbed his wrist as he rose. “I didn’t give up on you, Dean, not this time,” he said. “Why did you—why did you tell Crowley…” Tears began to well in his eyes as his voice trailed off, and Dean felt all of the helplessness of the nine-year-old who had no good answers for a pleading, anxious little brother.

“I didn’t give up on you,” Sam repeated.

Dean gently extricated himself from Sam’s grasp. “I know,” he assured his brother. “I never thought you did. I never thought you would.” He forced a laugh. “And hey, look at me now, huh? Good as new, thanks to you.”

Sam seemed to mouth the word “never,” and Dean waited uneasily for his next words. At last Sam simply sighed, “Okay.”

Dean had made it to the doorway and had switched off the light before he heard Sam again. “Dean!”

“Don’t put up any walls,” his brother slurred.

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean said tenderly. “Shut up and forget about it.” He listened in the darkness, and hearing only silence, reached for the doorknob and closed the door firmly behind him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> _As I returned across the fields I’d known  
>  I recognised the walls that I once made  
> I had to stop in my tracks for fear  
> Of walking on the mines I’d laid_
> 
> from “Fortress Around Your Heart” by Sting


End file.
